A Broken Kiss
by KateWare
Summary: In Chapter 8 of A Broken Kiss, Bellamy and Clarke find themselves in a situation they cannot avoid. How far will Clarke go to guarantee their freedom? Tensions are heightened and relationships changed. What will become of a night spent in captivity? (I apologize for any minor grammar errors).
1. Chapter 1

Bellamy smashed his fist into the nearest tree with such force that leaves fell to the floor all around him. Again and again he punched the tree in pure frustration, cursing and swearing.

"Bellamy stop. Bellamy!" Clarke shouted, dropping her pack to the ground.

They were in the middle of the forest, close to grounder territory. It was quiet, not even the birds dared to sing. There was a heaviness in the air, a thickness that Clarke had not felt since leaving The Ark. Bellamy pressed his head against his arm, resting on the trunk. Clarke could see the sweat dripping down his neck and dampening his shirt. His breathing was labored and breath short.

"Bellamy?" she took a careful step forwards. She watched as his muscles visibly tensed. His shirt strained at his shoulders. They had all gained more muscle since the landing and clothes had become smaller, tighter even. She could make out every curve and ripple across his back.

"Go away Clarke" he barked. She took a surprise step backwards then forwards again, closer this time.

"Bellamy it's alright," she soothed. "It's alright to be afraid, to be uncertain."

He looked down at her skeptically, his expression etched in stone. He had built his walls so high and so thick that she wasn't sure what emotions were real and which were not.

"I just need to be alone. Go back to camp." Bellamy pushed himself off the tree and began to walk away. Clarke's lips tightened into a scowl, he was so stubborn and headstrong it made her want to scream.

"Hey!" she ran after him and grabbed his arm. He shook her off without so much as a glance in her direction. She reached for him again and this time he turned around so abruptly that she nearly fell on him.

"What?"

"Don't you see Bell, you don't have to be alone. There are people who care about you back there," Clarke said, motioning back to the camp. There was a long pause and then she reached up to cup his bloodied cheek, "I care about you Bellamy."

She gently caressed his scars with her thumb, his skin feverish under her hand. He was staring down at her with glazed eyes.

"No Clarke. Don't _you_ see? I am poison! Poison to everyone who comes into contact with me. I am a ticking time bomb and I have already killed over 300 people!" he shouted. He dropped her hand as if it scorched his very skin. "You cannot care for me, you understand?"

He was looking down at her with such raw agony that it made her heart ache. When he was this close to her she could smell the sharp scent of oak and leather on him. She could make out every freckle, every scar on his face. She tilted her head.

"No I don't understand. I don't understand why you think you need to be alone, but the reason you just gave me is definitely not it. You want to be alone because it's easier that way isn't it? Easier to keep people out. I was locked up for a long time Bell and I _know_ no one wants to be alone, not even you."

It was at that moment that Bellamy's walls began to crumble. For the first time in years, his facial expression revealed what was happening beneath solid stone. To Clarke he no longer looked like a soldier made of iron. He looked like a boy.

"I can't live with myself," he whispered. "Everyone hates me, wants me dead."

"Stop it! I won't let that happen! When they get down here I'll make sure of it," Clarke once more touched her hand to his burning cheek. "You have me."

Her eyes were desperately searching his, hoping that he could see the honesty and the trust beneath.

It was at that moment that Bellamy took her slowly into his arms, burying his face in her neck, and choked out a sob. She reached up and gently grasped the hair at the back of his head, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Bellamy…" she murmured into his ear, her breath soft against his skin. One hand was running through her hair while the other down her back, at her waist, pulling her closer to him. They molded to one another perfectly. Clarke felt tears at the nape of her neck, but could not perceive a single sound. She continued to stroke the back of his head, winding his curly hair through her fingers.

When he finally pulled away and gazed down at her she noticed a tenderness in his eyes that she had never seen before. She had never seen him cry, personally she thought him incapable of any feeling at all. She carefully lifted her mouth to his and gently kissed him. She felt his hesitation in the way his shoulders stiffened. Then, slowly, he kissed her back. He was so tender and soft in the way that he kissed her, so unlike how he treated other girls, all fire and passion. He brought his calloused hand up and cupped the side of her face, deepening the kiss. Clarke teasingly bit his lower lip and in response Bellamy brought his mouth to her neck, kissing her softly.

"Bellamy…" she murmured against his cheek and slowly brought her hands under his shirt, feeling the iron-like muscle underneath. Bellamy was kissing her everywhere, her lips, her neck, her eyelids, all the while murmuring sweet nothings and holding her like she was the most precious thing on Earth. He brought his lips back to hers, hungrier this time. Clarke ran her hands down his arms, leaving light touches as she went. She felt Bellamy's barely controlled restraint in the way that he touched her. Clarke kneaded his shirt in her fist bringing him closer to her, she needed him closer.

Bellamy froze.

He broke away from her suddenly, his eyes wide with horror; then took on an accusatory gleam. He turned around, running his fingers through his hair, cursing and swearing.

"No Clarke, I won't have it…I can't, I can't let myself…" his voice trailed off.

"What's wrong Bellamy?" she asked, visibly hurt by his gesture. "I thought..."

"You thought what? That you were special? That you were different from any of the others?" he spat, his boyish façade was gone and replaced by a mask of stone. Clarke was hurt by his remark, but she would not allow tears to fall.

"Bell, this isn't you talking. This is your fear." she choked. Bellamy looked over in her direction, his eyes searing. He was balling his hands into fists, his jaw popping.

"You are _nothing_ to me Clarke, and it has to stay that way." he growled. Clarke began to feel tears dampening her cheeks, despite her promise to herself, and for a fraction of a second she thought she saw Bellamy's own face contort into something that looked a lot like pain.

She must have imagined it.

"Oh really?" she snapped. "I meant nothing to you when you were sticking your tongue down my throat?" Bellamy looked as though he had been slapped.

"They're right about you Bellamy," she cursed. "You deserve the death sentence you receive."

"By then, Princess, I'll be long gone."


	2. Chapter 2

Clarke had not spoken to Bellamy since the incident near Grounder territory, she couldn't. No matter how hard she tried to push away the image of herself in Bellamy's arms, she could not shake the feeling of his lips caressing hers. The way he softly stroked her face, the tenderness of his gestures, haunted and consumed her almost every night. Now, Bellamy would not even speak to her, he wouldn't even glance in her direction. Harsh and careless remarks would have been better than this unbearable silence between them.

Winter was quickly approaching. Clarke could feel the cold seeping into her bones. As she carried a pail of berries from the nearby meadow, she noticed the sky darkening and clouds growing dark. A storm was brewing and Clarke knew that their small fortifications back at camp would not withstand the onslaught. She quickly made her way towards home.

Home.

The realization hit her; Earth was her home now, not The Ark. This was mankind's homeland, not the metal prison that she was trapped in for so many years. However, it seemed as though Earth did not want them back. Every chance she had, Earth, was trying to overpower them.

She returned to camp shortly after, only to find everyone preparing for the upcoming storm. The camp was a frenzy of teenagers, screaming, shouting, cursing.

_Just perfect, _Clarke thought to herself and then out loud, "And this is what happens when you leave a moron in charge."

Clarke placed the berries down next to the store pile of food and went in search of Octavia. She refused to speak to Bellamy. She had managed to avoid him for two weeks and was not about to break that cycle. She found her talking to_ him _near the drop-ship. Octavia and Bellamy both looked up as she stopped dead in her tracks. Octavia smiled warmly to her and Bellamy looked as though he wanted to be anywhere but there. All she could see was his face inches from hers and sweet lips touching her own. Octavia motioned her over, clearly she had no idea what had occurred between her and Bellamy only two weeks before. Clarke swallowed and approached brother and sister.

"Octavia, I leave the camp for two hours and come back with everyone running around like their heads are chopped off. What is going on?" asked Clarke.

Bellamy snorted. "What are you implying, Princess?"

Clarke turned to look at Bellamy. "I'm implying," she began. "That you are incompetent when it comes to organizing people without pointing a gun to their head."

"You know what Princess, I would like to see—"

"Shut up, the both of you," barked Octavia. "God, you two are worse then Jasper and Monty when they go at it."

Clarke crossed her arms over her chest. "Octavia," she said pointedly. "What's going on?"

"Oh, didn't you hear? It's going to snow!" she squealed. "I hear snow is beautiful, so pure and white…"

"Just like my soul." commented Bellamy sarcastically.

It was Clarke's turn to snort. "Yea, as pure as ditchwater."

Octavia threw her hands up in the air. "I cannot deal with this right now. I'm going to go find Jasper." she said and disappeared into the drop-ship.

Bellamy and Clarke were left alone, alone in an awkward silence. She noticed his jaw popping and shoulders squaring. She had nothing to say to him.

"Clarke—" he started.

"I don't want to hear it Bellamy." She replied and walked away.

_**. . .**_

Bellamy watched, halfheartedly, as Clarke strode away from him. She had been avoiding him for weeks, and who could blame her. He admitted to himself that he missed her snide remarks and overly serious banter. Bellamy had tried to forget that day, the day when Clarke so easily broke down his walls. Not even Octavia had ever seen him break down like he did in front of Clarke. She challenged his every word and action, was the steady calm when The 100 needed balance and they looked up to her. Bellamy looked up to her.

"Hey, Blake," a deep voice resonated behind him, Murphy. His face was still scarred from when the grounders dumped him outside camp.

"What?" Bellamy asked, still starring off after Clarke.

"Finn still hasn't returned from reconnaissance." he replied and shrugged his gun onto his shoulder. Bellamy turned abruptly, his eyes searing into Murphy's.

"What do you mean he hasn't returned? Where could the idiot have possibly wandered off to?" Bellamy barked. Once again Bellamy was reminded of Clarke. Clarke cared for Finn, even he saw it. Of course, he couldn't quite see what she saw in him, but if anything happened to Finn, God forbid, Clarke would skin him alive.

Bellamy ran a calloused hand through his tousled hair and down his face, swearing. _Just thing he needed to hear_, he thought to himself bitterly.

"Where was he scouting?" asked Bellamy.

"Near the base of the mountains." was Murphy's hesitant reply.

"Dammit…" swore Bellamy, again. "Give me your gun Murphy"

"What! Are you kidding me? This is—"

"Murphy, give me the gun or I swear to…" Bellamy began. Murphy handed him the gun without further argument. He was going to go get Finn and bring him back, not for himself, for Clarke. Personally, he could care less if idiot died out in the snow.

"Are you sure you want to do this Bellamy? The storm will be here in just a few hours." Murphy commented.

"I'll be back before it does," he said stopping by his tent to pick up rations and his pack. "In the meantime, Murphy, make sure nobody kills each other."

Murphy was following Bellamy to the edge of camp, discussing what actions were to be taken if he was not back in time, when he heard the one thing he feared would follow him out of camp.

Clarke.

"Where are you going?" she demanded. Bellamy rolled his eyes, exasperated. Not only was she standing in front of him, but she was standing in front of him with her own pack of supplies.

"I'm going to go rescue your boyfriend." he replied.

"My boyfriend!" she retorted. "Monty told me Finn was missing. And let's make one thing clear, Finn is _not_ my boyfriend."

"Whatever you say…Princess," Bellamy said through gritted teeth. "But you're still not coming."

Clarke imitated a surprise look of offense. "Of course, I'm coming," she smiled. "You'll need me to save your sorry ass when you get stabbed by a Grounder." and with that being said, she strode out of camp, shoulders squared and hands on her straps.

Bellamy groaned. The woman was impossible.

"Like I said, I'll be back before the storm." explained Bellamy to Murphy; and all Murphy did was pat him on the shoulder before closing the gate.

_**. . .**_

To say the walk was awkward would be an understatement. Bellamy could tell Clarke was tense just by the way she held herself, all stiff and stoic. She still wouldn't look at him unless it was completely necessary. Once, every fifteen minutes or so, he would glance up and gaze at the sky. It was darkening quickly. The forest was shadowy too, not only literally, but figuratively as well. It seemed devoid of any and all life.

They had been searching for Finn for a good forty-five minutes to no avail. They couldn't even find his tracks. If they didn't turn back now, they would be trapped in winter's first snow storm.

"We have to go back." Bellamy exclaimed, his own voice seeming to disturb the unsettling vibe of the forest.

"We haven't found Finn yet."

"Maybe he already returned to camp." he said, stopping to look at Clarke. Just as the words left his mouth, a white snowflake landed on his hand and shortly after more followed. He heard Clarke mutter something under her breath. Bellamy ran his hand through his hair.

"We won't make it back, camp is at least an hour away." he said, exasperated. Clarke stared at him long and hard, her eyes narrowing. He couldn't help but notice the white flakes of snow tangling in her blonde hair and along her lashes. Bellamy swallowed and looked off towards the mountain.

"We can make it." Clarke replied. Bellamy was skeptical. The snow was coming faster now, beginning to coat the forest floor. She raised her face to the sky and scowled; clearly she didn't believe her own statement.

"Looks like we're going to have to make camp Princess."

"Don't call me that Bellamy," she said, glaring at him and then added, "We should make it at the base of the mountain."

"Whatever you say…Princess." he teased.

Clarke scowled at him and walked away.

_**. . .**_

The storm was blowing in full force by the time they reached the mountain. The wind was howling and Clarke couldn't even hear herself think. Bellamy found an alcove in the rocks, it offered only minimal protection.

"Are you serious?" she protested. "We will literally die of frostbite Bellamy."

"Well maybe you should tell your boyfriend to stop wandering off picking daisies then." he quickly retorted.

"What do_ you_ possibly have against Finn?" Clarke asked putting her hand on her hip. He was looking up at her as he rolled out a blanket.

"Finn," Bellamy began. "Is nothing but a liar."

"Oh, and like you're not?"

"Clarke, let's get one thing straight, I lied for the good of the many. Your boyfriend lied to you because it was easier for him to screw you that way." Bellamy said matter-of-factly.

Clarke slapped him.

"How dare you!" she yelled. "Finn is my friend and like you said, I'm _nothing_ to you so what does it matter?"

Bellamy held up a hand to his face and smiled. Clarke was infuriated. He was the most self-centered, son of bitch she ever met. She had nothing else to say to him. She lay down her own narrow blanket and scooted as far away from him as possible. She looked at him as he rested his head back against the hard rock, eyes closed.

"See something you like?" he grinned, opening one eye. She rolled her own eyes and gazed out into the forest. The shrubbery and trees were completely covered in a thick blanket of snow. Clarke and Bellamy only had a short overhang protecting them from the cold. She brought her knees up to her chest. Her coat would be no match for the bitter wind. It was well below thirty degrees and her teeth were chattering. The icy rock wall at back was not helping anything either.

"Clarke, do you have a blanket?" asked Bellamy, actually sounding sincere for once in his life. He was gazing at her, a worried expression on his face.

"Yes…" she chattered against all her self-control. Bellamy tilted his head and coughed, looking as though he was about to say something. Was he blushing? Clarke's eyes widened, thinking where this was going.

"We might have to—" he began.

"No way in hell am I snuggling with you Bellamy Blake." was her immediate reply. He shrugged it off as if he could care less and closed his eyes. Meanwhile, Clarke stared stonily ahead, biting her lip and shivering.

It was cold; and with night approaching it would only get worse.

She had managed to close her eyes and sleep for an hour before waking up to a full on onslaught of snow and frost. Clarke glanced down at her hands and stifled a scream; they were turning blue.

"Bellamy!" she shouted without thinking. He woke up immediately and was at her side in seconds.

"What's wrong?" he asked. Clarke raised her shaking hands.

"My hands Bellamy…" she started. He reached out and took them in his own, rubbing hers between his. She was so cold, so terribly cold, she couldn't move. Her jacket was drenched from the melted snow and her hair damp from frost. She tried to say something, but her words were frozen on her lips.

"Dammit Clarke," he swore. "I should've realized sooner. You'll need to take off your jacket, it's soaked."

She couldn't move, she only saw frost.

Bellamy stopped rubbing her hands and carefully took off her coat. His hands were warm, so warm. Without realizing it she leaned into him, inhaling spice and oak. He took her into his arms and gave her his own jacket. She felt her legs become numb and she lost feeling in her feet long ago. Clarke could no longer tell when she was conscious or unconscious. All she knew that she was safe with Bellamy, wrapped in his arms.


	3. Chapter 3

Bellamy held Clarke's cold body close to his chest. Her skin was like ice and her breathing slow. Even her heart rate was beginning to decrease. There was no way to protect her from the cold; there was no way for him to lessen her pain. He looked down at her, so soft and fragile in his arms, and remembered that only hours ago she was bossing him, telling him how to run camp. Bellamy had no words. He had not felt this hopeless since Octavia had been discovered on The Ark, when he was powerless to help her.

This was worse.

On The Ark Bellamy had at least known that his sister would be safe. But right now, he wasn't so sure that Clarke would come back. This was all his fault. He had insisted that he should be the one to go out and find Finn. He should've known that she would have followed.

Bellamy was about to lose the one person he needed most; that The 100 needed most.

He didn't want to admit it, not even to himself, that he relied on Clarke more than anyone. She was the one who kept him grounded, who kept him sane. Octavia was his sister, she was his comfort. But Clarke? Clarke was the heart of The 100; she was their hope and Bellamy their protector. How could he expect to be a protector when he couldn't even protect the one person he cared about most?

Bellamy brushed Clarke's blonde curls out of her face, leaving light touches as he went. She unconsciously leaned into his hand. Her skin temperature remained the same, cold as ice.

"Clarke," he begged, his voice hoarse. "Clarke… I need you. You don't understand how much _everyone_ needs you."

He lifted her up into his lap, his back firmly against the wall. Bellamy couldn't stop gently rubbing his hands up her arms, trying to warm her. Softly, he brought her golden curls over her shoulder in attempt to shield her neck from the howling wind. Bellamy didn't understand why she was so affected by the cold and he wasn't. He was defiantly cold, colder than he had ever been in his entire life, but he wasn't on the verge of hypothermia. If only Clarke was awake she would be able to explain this to him.

Clarke was beautiful.

Bellamy had never met anyone quite as stubborn or full of passion as his Clarke. Whereas most people would back down in a confrontation with him, she would spit fire right back at him. She was kind and calm and nurturing, never did she once complain about helping someone in need. That was what made Clarke beautiful, her compassion.

He pressed his forehead against hers, whispering the names of all the people who cared about her, including himself. He regretted that day, the day when he told her she meant nothing to him. He was only lying to himself, she meant _everything_ to him. The pain expressed on her face and the anger he had invoked, just knowing what he had done prevented him from being able to sleep for weeks. He had tried to numb the pain by screwing around with other girls, but it did nothing to lesson his feelings for Clarke. He was not one for whom people came to for comfort or solstice. Bellamy was never taught, was never raised to be compassionate; he didn't know how, neither did Octavia. Being raised as a solider, that's what The Ark taught him.

"Bellamy?" Clarke stirred in his arms.

"Clarke! Thank God, thank God you're alive." he said and hugged her to his chest.

"Of course I'm alive you idiot! Do you seriously think I was going to die on you when I have a camp to run?" she retorted in all seriousness. She coughed into his chest and it racked her entire body.

"Clarke?" he asked again, running his hands through her hair, attempting to soothe her.

"I'm fine," she waved. "Just… cold."

Bellamy said nothing. Night had fallen and the snowstorm was still fiercely blowing outside. He looked back down at Clarke who was resting her hand on his bicep and studying his profile. All he could do was stare down in amazement at her. Clarke was in his arms, she was safe and she was _alive_. They sat like that for several long minutes, Clarke leaning into his chest and Bellamy rubbing her arms, her legs.

"You should sleep Clarke." whispered Bellamy. He felt her nod against him. He reached over, grabbing the blankets. Clarke laid up against the wall with Bellamy between her and the frost outside. He lay down beside her, his arm supporting her head. Lifting the blankets around them, he settled in close to her. Clarke pressed up against him and breathed in deeply. He couldn't help but notice how perfectly she fit against him and how right it felt. Bellamy wasn't sure the last time he had ever wanted to protect someone this badly, keep them safe. Probably since Octavia, but she was different, she was blood. His body shielded Clarke from most of the cold. A warmth he had never felt before bloomed in chest, and it was a warmth for Clarke.

"Thank you Bellamy…" she murmured, her breath teasing his skin. Moments later he could make out her soft snoring and smiled. His mind flashed to what could be: sleeping every night with Clarke curled in his arms, waking up every morning together to take on the world. Leaning down, he kissed her forehead.

"Don't you ever leave, Clarke Griffin." he whispered into her hair. Bellamy did not sleep that night, his mind was wandering. And, if something happened to Clarke again while he was sleeping, he would never forgive himself.

He never wanted the sun to rise. He wanted to lay there with Clarke in his arms until the next apocalypse came.

But, Bellamy could never tell Clarke what he felt. If Clarke knew, she would form an attachment to him, and if something ever happened to him, she would need to be strong and lead The 100 without him.


	4. Chapter 4

Clarke did not dream that night, she was encompassed by darkness. When one does not dream, one never remembers the abyssal blackness of nothingness. Clarke remembered. It was like being trapped within the walls of your own imagination: It was like being imprisoned on The Ark, there was no escape. She kept calling out, but there was no reply.

Clarke woke with a jolt, her eyes flying open. She immediately inhaled sharp scents of spice and oak. She was pressed up against someone, and looking down she found her hand fisting a t-shirt. Not only that, but to her embarrassment, she realized her leg was thrown across someone's body.

She had no recollection of what happened the night before. She had no idea what time it was, where she was, or better yet who she was with. And then she remembered… Bellamy. Bellamy was the one who was holding her in an iron like embrace. Bellamy was the one who had saved her. Clarke's face was tucked underneath his chin and his silent breathing was stirring her hair. She lay still for a moment, barely breathing, hoping he wasn't awake.

"If you don't mind Princess, you're crushing my leg."

Dammit.

Clarke managed to wiggle out of his embrace and sit upright. She went to smooth her hair and found it sticking up at all ends, not to mention she had a little drool encrusted on the side of her mouth. She glanced down at Bellamy who was grinning like the very devil himself, trying not to laugh. Clarke scowled at him. He propped himself up on his elbow and cocked his head to the side, studying her.

"You know, Princess, most girls never do get the chance to cuddle with Bellamy Blake." he smiled.

Clarke was furious. She reached over and threw her pack at him, hitting him in the shoulder. This time he laughed. It was not his ordinary laugh, all condescending and forced. This was a real laugh, a laugh that Clarke had never heard before. It was full of real humor and love, and she couldn't help but break out into a grin. This was the true Bellamy, not the soldier façade he hid behind.

She turned her gaze to the snow outside their alcove; it covered the foliage in a thick layer of white cotton. Some of it was spilling onto their blankets. The sun glinted off the frost, creating beautiful rainbows that illuminated the alcove and forest. Small animals scurried this way and that, leaving footprints that they could easily track. Clarke was amazed. She had never seen snow before. She had read about it in books, but to be able to touch and see it, that was magical. She glanced over at Bellamy who was staring at her with fascination. A smile broke out on her face as she fisted a handful of snow. Bellamy's grin slowly turned into a frown upon seeing her hand.

"Clarke… don't you even—" he began before she threw a snowball at him. It landed on his chest, exploding all over his clothes. In response he playful lunged for her, but she had already scrambled outside, climbing out of the alcove. He had managed to catch her ankle and she squealed; she looked back and wiggled free. She succeeded in gathering enough snow to throw at him as he crawled out of their little den. Bellamy immediately packed a snowball, and laughing, threw it at her. She dodged it easily.

"For someone who thinks they have great aim, you're terrible." she teased. She flung another at him and he ducked out of the way.

"For someone who has never seen snow, you seem pretty apt at hitting your target." he retorted. She grinned. Bellamy picked up a chunk of snow and managed to hit her in the leg. Clarke ran and ducked behind a tree, gathering a fistful of white frost for ammunition. She looked out from her spot and hurled a good handful at him. As it hit him in the thigh, she scrambled from behind the tree. She felt another explode across her back and looked back at Bellamy, scowling. Clarke flung a snowball at him, striking him close to the neck. He fell backwards, causing snow to fly out from beneath him, and lay still.

"Bellamy!" she yelled. _Oh God_, she thought, _she would certainly hear about this later_.

She raced over to him, collapsing in the snow at his side. Bellamy's eyes were closed and he was breathing heavily. She put her fingers to his throat, his heart was racing.

"Bellamy?" she whispered, fearing the worst. What if he was unconscious? What if she had struck him too hard? What if—

"So this is how you get your frustration out huh Griffin?" he asked, opening one eye and grinning up at her. "Throwing snowballs at innocent bystanders?"

"What?" she replied, confused and before she knew what was happening he nailed her in the shoulder with a snowball. Clarke fell on side and he rolled on top of her, fisting another. She frowned, furious with him.

"You bastard! I thought you were actually hurt!" she growled.

"Only my heart Princess, only my heart." was his snarky reply.

She gripped his jacked and wrestled him over onto his back. Her legs were resting on either side of his stomach and her hands were pinning his back; a victorious smile on her face.

"Well, well, what do you know, she likes to be on top." he chuckled. She grabbed a handful of snow and chucked it at him. He immediately seized her wrist and brought her closer to him. Her face was inches from his. She noticed how boyish he looked with snow in his hair and a genuine smile on his face, a carefree smile. They were both breathing hard and Clarke's hair was spilling out all around them. Bellamy gently began to rub little circles on her wrist, sending goose bumps up her arm. His touch all of the sudden affecting her in ways she did not know could be affected by him.

"Stop that." she said, her voice uncharacteristically low.

"Stop what?" he asked innocently, turning her hand over to kiss it; his lips soft and warm. He kissed each and every finger, slowly, methodically.

"That," she whispered. "Stop it."

He looked up at her and smiled before taking her shoulders and gently flipping her on her back. She let out a small gasp, strangely light and breathy.

"Bellamy…" her voice sounded pleading, which she had not planned on at all. She did not plead with anyone.

"Seems as though we both like being on top." he said, smiling. His voice, too, sounded deeper, huskier. He bent down, his lips close to her cheek and began to gently tug the snow out of her hair. His breath on her cheek both warmed and exhilarated her. Clarke unconsciously brought her knees up around him and brought her hands up into his own curly hair. His hair was so soft and it ran through her hands black as coal. She brought her hands down his neck and to his arms. Bellamy touched his lips to her forehead and she heard a deep growl resonate from within him.

She so badly wanted him to kiss her; she wanted it more than anything. She pulled him forwards by his jacket. In response, Bellamy touched his hand, beneath her coat, to her waist. Clarke felt his warmth through her shirt, through all her clothes. His other cupped her cheek as he stared down at with an expression she did not recognize.

"Clarke…" he breathed. Bellamy bent down, meaning to touch his lips to her own, when a noise sounded from the forest.

"Bellamy! Clarke?" a familiar voice rang from the foliage.


	5. Chapter 5

Bellamy froze. His lips were a hair away from touching Clarke's, a hand in her curls and another at her waist holding her close. Opening his eyes he saw Clarke's fear expressed through her entire face. He came to the realization that by him being with her Bellamy was endangering them both. She was afraid of being caught with_ him_. The thought made his blood boil.

"Bellamy? Clarke?" the voice persisted once more. Bellamy distanced himself from Clarke, who was frozen in place, and looked over his shoulder.

Murphy. Murphy was standing at the tree line, a wicked look in his eyes. A wickedness that Bellamy never noticed in his friend, he was oblivious to his malevolence, his mental sickness.

Bellamy stood and so did Clarke, however she was quiet and stoic, saying nothing. As he often did when he was nervous, Bellamy ran a hand through his tousled hair and crossed his arms. Clarke awkwardly stood at his side.

"Well, well," Murphy began. "This is something… unexpected…"

"Look, Murphy I can explain—" Bellamy took a step forwards before he was interrupted by a laugh, Murphy holding up his hands.

"I'm sure you can Blake, can't wait to hear it," he smiled. His gun was strapped over his side and he was fiddling with it, studying it as he talked. "But we have more pressing matters; everyone has been looking for you two… lovers… and while you were gone, Finn just so happened to stumble into camp."

"Finn! Is he alright? Is he…" Clarke started, taking a step forward. Her concern for Finn sent an unfamiliar feeling through Bellamy's stomach, an unpleasant feeling. Jealously? He would never admit to it.

"Finn's dying." Murphy's tone was flat, emotionless and uncaring.

Clarke dropped to the floor, her whole body convulsing. Bellamy immediately went to her side, to comfort her, but her face was white. He swept the hair out of her face and rubbed her back. She was rigid as stone. Bellamy stood, helping Clarke stand too. She leaned on his arm for balance and looked down at her feet.

"What happened to him? What did he say?" asked Bellamy. However, Murphy was staring at them with a curious expression on his face and smiled.

"He hasn't spoken to anyone. Looks as though he was mauled by Grounders. He wants to talk to Clarke."

_**. . .**_

Clarke ran through camp, pushing and shoving people out of the way. She left Bellamy and Murphy standing at the gate. All she could think of was Finn, Finn and Bellamy. She cast the memory of Bellamy pressing up against her aside and ran faster. She flew through the curtains of the drop-ship and was greeted by at least twenty people with an onslaught of questions. She looked around frantically and found him, Finn, Finn and Octavia.

She elbowed her way towards the table. Octavia was hovering over Finn holding a bloodied rag. Clarke noticed that Jasper and Monty were at her side as well.

"Oh thank God you're here," she exclaimed. "He's pretty beaten up." Octavia wiped the sweat off her brow.

Beaten up? Finn was unrecognizable. His face was mangled, chest covered in a series of cuts and blood dripped from his ears. Clarke didn't even know where to begin. She was shaking when she reached him.

"Finn? Finn, it's me Clarke." she said into his ear.

A hand shot up and snatched her wrist, the wrist that Bellamy was so tenderly kissing only hours before. She pushed the thought away, Finn needed her. His eyes were staring up into hers, but he wasn't _seeing_ her. His eyes were wild and bloodshot searching the space around her.

"Clarke?" he croaked. The room was so quite one could hear a pin drop. Bellamy and Murphy burst through, breaking that silence. The room erupted into noise. Bellamy, too, shoved his way to the table, to her side.

"Yes Finn, I'm here. You're alright." she soothed, stroking his hair.

"Everyone quiet!" Bellamy yelled. The room immediately silenced. Bellamy placed a hand on her shoulder. She looked back up at him and smiled a sad smile before turning back towards Finn.

"Clarke…" Finn repeated softly.

"Finn tell me what happened. Who did this to you?" she asked him, then to the room, "Someone get me some rubbing alcohol, more rags and stitches! Now!"

"Grounders, they captured…and tortured… Clarke am I going to die?" Finn rolled over onto his side and coughed up blood. His face was drained, his body was drained of blood.

"Why did they do this?" Bellamy barked, leaning over Clarke's shoulder.

"Bellamy! Gentle!" she reprimanded, hitting him in the shoulder. He scowled at her.

"Clarke…they have survivors…the Exodus ship, they say they have the survivors." Finn mumbled.

"Impossible…" Jasper murmured. Someone came running back into the drop-ship with an armful of supplies and handed them to Clarke. She took them gratefully.

"Octavia, start rubbing alcohol on his cuts so we can stitch him up." Clarke said, rummaging through the supplies looking for the herbal drug to numb Finn's pain. She found it and made him swallow. He was attempting to wave his arms frantically and shake his head.

"Clarke…there's something else too." he rasped. Clarke touched a hand to his forehead; he was burning up, not a good sign.

"It's alright Finn, you need to calm down." she quieted, wiping his cheeks with a cool rag.

"What is it?" asked Bellamy. Clarke turned around and scowled at him.

"They want you and Bellamy, they said if I didn't bring you back…" Finn broke down coughing.

"Finn!"

He waved her away. "They said they would murder every last person from the Exodus ship…and Clarke, they want a union."

"A union?" she asked, confused. Finn's body started to spasm.

"They want a marriage…between you and the Grounders. You have…to go…" Finn's voice drifted off and his head rolled to the side.

"Finn! No, no, no, this can't be…" she reached down and tested for a pulse. His heart rate was slowing. Clarke leaned over the table, placing her head over Finn's heart and burst into tears.


	6. Chapter 6

Finn was in a coma. He wasn't dead. He wasn't alive. He was in limbo. What pained Clarke the most was that she could not help him. She could clean and stitch his wounds, but she could not wake him. Only he could decide when he wanted to wake.

Clarke did not leave his side for several hours. She did not move, nor did she eat or drink. She was immobile except for when Finn needed her. She felt tears staining her cheeks, but she didn't remember crying. All she could do was sit and wait and think. If what Finn had told her was true, then her mother was still alive. She would've been on the Exodus ship. The thought of her mother and the others being tortured by Grounders infuriated her. She would do whatever it takes to save them. She would travel the ends of space for family; she would fight for her family because that is what leaders do. Leaders fight for what is true and what is right and what is best for those around them.

At that moment, Bellamy strode into the drop-ship. It was quiet and calm, the atmosphere still, unmoving. Clarke looked over at him, tears in her eyes. Bellamy's face immediately softened.

"Oh Clarke," he breathed walking over to stand by her side. She turned and threw her arms around him, choking out a sob. Bellamy's arms encircled her like a protective blanket and a hand stroked her back. Clarke buried her head in his neck and let herself cry. All her emotions, pent up inside for all these weeks, were released. She broke down, she broke down in front of Bellamy. Her crying gave way to full on sobbing. It racked her entire body, shaking her to very core.

"Shhh… Clarke, you're so strong, so incredibly strong." he whispered next to her ear. She took a deep breath, attempting to calm herself. She inhaled him, his spice and oak, it comforted her.

"You can't save everyone. I know you believe it's your obligation to be a guardian angel and try to, but Clarke, life is not benevolent," he said, running his hand through her hair. "Our life is difficult and hard, grueling, but this life gave me you…"

Clarke withdrew herself just far away enough to look up into his eyes. Bellamy smiled and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes searched his and she got lost in his candidness.

"That is the most beautiful thing I've ever heard," she murmured. "Thank you Bellamy…"

Clarke turned to look at Finn, out of Bellamy's embrace. Even though he was in a coma, it felt wrong to share such feelings with him near. Feelings with a man she didn't even realize she ever had. Finn was all mended, stitched and cleaned; right now it looked as if he was just sleeping. She felt Bellamy's warmth at her back and his breath at her ear. His presence gave her strength.

"What are we going to do?" she asked. Clarke had never felt more hopeless in this moment than in her entire life. Bellamy placed a reassuring hand on her arm.

"We should see what the Grounders really want," he replied.

"A union?" she stated more to herself than to Bellamy. The thought made her stomach churn and send shivers up her spine. What reason could they possibly have for a marriage between her and another Grounder?

"Clarke I won't let that happen." his voice sounded firm and decided. Clarke turned to face him once more.

"We leave now and come back as soon as possible. But first, we need to discuss this with the rest of them." she said, referring to The 100. Without looking back at Finn or Bellamy she walked outside. The light blinded her and she had to shield her eyes from the unforgiving sun. When she had adjusted she dropped her arm and saw everyone, The 100, staring up at her. The camp was silent and the mood was bleak, morose even. She realized that they were mourning, mourning the memory of Finn. Bellamy came to stand beside her. They both looked at each other and smiled sadly.

"As you all probably know by now," she began. "Finn is in a coma, stuck between deciding to live or to die. You have also heard the news about the Grounders—"

"Is it true? Clarke, do they want you to marry one of them?" asked someone from within the crowd, voice full of disgust. Clarke's words were frozen on her lips, she knew how to respond, but it would not leave her mouth.

"I won't let that happen," said Bellamy. "They are not taking Clarke, nor will they ever have her or myself, not as long as I live. If they want a meeting, their getting a meeting." His voice resonated through the assembly, clear and intelligible.

"We are leaving tonight. We're going to see if what Finn said is true and if we're not back by tomorrow's nightfall…gradually send out search parties. Octavia, look after Finn. Jasper you're in charge." Clarke exclaimed her voice growing in pitch after each word.

Jasper looked around as if he couldn't believe he had been picked to lead. Monty just looked stupefied and Murphy, Murphy was livid. Clarke stared at him long and hard. There was something about him that she didn't trust, something in him was tainted. Bellamy did not see his friend's taint, nor would he ever. Clarke looked over at Bellamy and nodded, they were leaving now. Where they were going she did not know. All Clarke knew was that there were survivors from The Ark and she had to save them, no matter the cost; a cost she was willing to pay with or without Bellamy's approval.


	7. Chapter 7

The Forest was quiet and calm in comparison to what Bellamy felt on the inside, a torrent of emotions. Every so often he would glance over at Clarke and see the fierce look of determination on her face, her squared shoulders and confident stride. He admired her. He admired her strength in a time of uncertainty.

They were headed towards the nearest sigil fire on the far side of the valley. It was about a day's walk from camp. Octavia had told them that was where the Grounder camp was; Lincoln had presumably told her. She was worried about him leaving, but he assured her he would be alright with Clarke by his side. Octavia had smiled and hugged him tightly. Out here, one was never sure when the next time one would see another again.

They had been walking for almost an entire day now and were only minutes away from the camp. The sun had dipped behind the mountains only an hour before. Bellamy was getting anxious. He could feel eyes and arrows pointed at his back. Clarke was becoming restless as well. A twig snapped close by, than another and another. Both Clarke and Bellamy froze. He drew out his gun, his finger ready to shoot. He motioned for Clarke to do the same.

"Put down your weapons." A voice rang from somewhere in the tree canopy, loud and strong. It was a female voice.

"Why don't you come out?" Bellamy asked, gun pointed up into the trees. "We'll negotiate."

Laughter was heard all around them. It unnerved Clarke and Bellamy, they didn't know where to aim, _where _to shoot or_ what_ to shoot.

"Negotiate? With you? I'm not stupid," she chuckled. "I know how you humans negotiate, with guns and talks of peace."

"Bellamy," Clarke whispered. "Put your gun down." she gazed at him, her eyes reassuring. She placed a hand over his.

"It will be alright." she said. His eyes searched hers and slowly he lowered his gun.

"Take them." commanded the female Grounder. All around them beast-like men leapt down from the trees, surrounding the pair. Their guns were immediately confiscated and a figure appeared before them, the female Grounder, Anya. Her eyes were as black as charcoal and war paint covered her face like a mask. She strode towards them, circling them, a cat stalking her prey. Her men stood at attention some distance behind her. Anya looked Bellamy and Clarke up and down coming to stand before Bellamy. She grabbed his chin and turned his head side to side.

"Well, aren't you just a beautiful thing," she said matter-of-factly. "I wasn't expecting you." Bellamy's shoulders tensed but he said nothing. Anya tsked. She dropped her hand and moved to Clarke who stared defiantly at the Grounder.

"And here is our new healer, Clarke Griffin," she said pronouncing her name slowly and with emphasis. "The winged lioness." Anya took a step back to study her.

"Yes, I suppose you'll do." she took a step forwards and grabbed a fistful of Clarke's hair, smelling it. Bellamy heard Clarke gasp, but his hands remained at his side; they had no use for him and would not hesitate to put a spear in his back. "She is pure is she not?" Anya turned towards Bellamy, "She has not been taken by any man?"

Bellamy's face contorted. "How should I know who Clarke does or doesn't sleep with?" he spat and shot a questioning look to Clarke.

Clarke squirmed. She had slept with Finn; Finn had taken the most precious thing from her, her innocence. Bellamy of course didn't know this and she didn't want him too. However, if it would save their lives…

"No, no I'm not pure, I'm not a virgin." Clarke blurted. Bellamy froze and looked at her, a funny expression on his face. She looked away, embarrassed. Anya snorted.

"No, no you are still pure, child." The Grounder assured. She ran a finger down her cheek. "You have no proof, no child," Anya touched Clarke's stomach. "You have not created life."

Bellamy came to stand in front of Clarke, cutting her off from Anya.

"That's enough!" he barked. "We came here to negotiate, not to arrange marriage." Anya smiled.

"Your word has no jurisdiction in my territory, human. Take them to camp." she waved to her men and as Anya left they swarmed them, separating them.

"Bellamy!" Clarke screamed. She heard a disgruntled reply; they had gagged him just as they began to gag and blindfold her. She kicked and screamed, but they were strong and had her in a vice-like grip. Her knees buckled and she was thrown over someone's back. She knew nothing else.

_**. . .**_

"Get up!" someone ordered, kicking Clarke in the side. She moaned and felt herself being hauled onto her feet. Her blindfold was torn off and light scorched her eyes. She blinked several times and quickly became aware of her surroundings. She was in a tent. Furs covered the entire ground and animal heads hung from the walls. Animals she didn't recognize. A strategic table sat in the middle of the room, covered with figurines and buildings. She didn't have time to study it though because she calculating ways to escape. There were four Grounders in the room. One was holding her hands behind her back and the other three were at the other end of the table, watching. One was sitting in a huge chair adorned with antlers and furs. He was more lavishly dressed than the others and with less war paint.

"Where's Bellamy?" she demanded when she realized he was not with her.

"Don't worry, he is safe as long as we have you corporation," replied the seated Grounder calmly. "Excuse my men, they do not know how to treat a lady." he motioned to the Grounder holding her and he roughly took her by the shoulder and sat her next to the one who was speaking. Clarke shrugged him off as she sat down. The man to her left contemplated her appearance.

"Pretty young thing," he said to no one. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Graul of the Valley Tribe, second in command to Anya and brother." Clarke said nothing, instead she studied his scarred face and neck. It distorted his features and, in attempt to cover his deformities, had grown his hair out to his shoulders. In some ways he looked like Anya, it was hard to tell though. He spoke with a certain eloquence, an eloquence that the other Grounders did not have and it made Clarke suspicious. Anya, while well-spoken, was not to the level of her brother, if he was truly who he claimed to be.

"Where are the survivors?" she asked. Graul looked over at her, a disdainful look in his hollow eyes.

"Your people? Why, they are alive, what is left of them anyways. Many have died, but there are a few survivors. They are being treated at a different location." he said nonchalantly.

Clarke burst out of her seat, enraged.

"I was told they would be here, safe!" she yelled before a Grounder shoved her back down in her seat and held her there.

"My, my you simply have no manners do you?" Graul chastised. "I do hope your friend is still alive…my men can get a bit— carried away sometimes."

"He's dying." Clarke said flatly.

"What a shame." Graul replied.

"A real shame." she said bitterly. She was growing tired of all his formalities. Clearly, he was someone who held a lot of power. She needed to be careful what she said and did.

"What do you want for the freedom of my people and for Bellamy?" she asked.

"A union," he said. "Between you and one of Anya's men."

"I know that," Clarke snapped. "But to who and why?"

"Rather direct aren't you?"

"Shut up you bastard! I've had enough of your games. I want to know why I'm here." she had completely lost it and stood, slamming her hands down on the table. Graul, too, rose out of his chair no longer in a mood to chat. His face contorted into something very evil and very vicious, but Clarke refused to shrink back.

"You will treat me with respect, little human," he growled. "You are here because of my sister's bidding. You are here because of our need for a healer. And, more importantly, you are here because of my need for a successor." Graul came to stand beside her. Looming over her, he bent down so that his hot breath was right next to her cheek. He gently stroked the hair away from her face. Clarke cringed as his hand traveled the length of her body. She couldn't move, she was paralyzed with fear.

"Child, you will bring a different kind of unity to our people. You are untainted, pure, everything my tribe requires for the Tribal Union. I will see you tomorrow." Graul whispered and she was led out of the tent.


	8. Chapter 8

Clarke was led to a tent in the center of camp and shoved inside. She struggled against her captor's hold to no avail. The Grounder who brought her inside was a burly man dressed in elk furs and horns. A mask covered his entire face hiding his features. Inside, the tent was hot with a fire burning in the center of the room and furs lining the walls.

"Clarke!" cried a familiar voice.

"Bellamy?"

The Grounder grunted and, taking her by the hair, forced her to look straight ahead. She bit her lip to discourage her scream. She heard Bellamy protest vehemently.

"No talking." growled the Grounder and pushed her down, her back against a wooden post. He jerked her hands behind her back and tied them together with rope. He muttered unintelligible words as he exited the tent. Clarke saw two shadows guarding the outside entrance through the buckskin walls. She gazed over at Bellamy who was tied to a post a few feet away from her. He looked pissed.

"Well Princess, looks like it's just you and me. How are we going to get out of this one?" he asked, his head rolling back against the post to look at her.

"I don't know." was her quiet reply.

"Of course you do, you always have a daring and dashing escape planned. This is no different." he added.

"I don't know Bellamy! I don't know…" Clarke's voice trailed off. She bowed and shook her head. "They want me to have a child…"

"What!" Bellamy's voice sounded and he tried to stand but was forced back down due to his bonds.

"They aren't even here, the survivors, they're at another camp." Clarke said, sounding more hopeless than she ever had before.

"Well there has to be someway—" he began.

"There is none Bellamy! They want a leader and they want a virgin, which by the way—" Clarke snapped, staring stonily ahead, only to be interrupted by Bellamy.

"That's it." he blurted, his eyes lighting up. Clarke shot a questioning look at him and a smile broke out on his face.

"Make them think you're not a virgin."

"Bellamy, I'm not in the mood for your dumb-ass jokes." she spat.

"They said they needed a virgin right? They wouldn't need you if you weren't. They would need someone else and that would buy us some time." He said, elaborating on his plan. Clarke studied the fur rugs, thinking.

"And how do you suppose we'll do that?"

"Simple."

She gazed skeptically at him and then the realization dawned. Her features turned dark and a scowl materialized on her face. She was in no way having sex with Bellamy.

"Great plan. How do you suppose you'll go about that hmm?" she said sarcastically. "You're tied to a pole in case you didn't notice."

"All the better." he smiled. Clarke rolled her eyes and as she looked over at him saw that he was cutting away at the ropes with a knife. They fell to the floor and he sighed in relief.

"They didn't search us for hidden weapons, dumb Grounders." he said matter-of-factly. He silently made his way over to Clarke to cut her ropes. She rubbed her wrists, massaging the tender skin. Bellamy came over and kneeled down in front of her whispering,

"There are two Grounders guarding the entrance and two that circle the tent every few minutes. We can see out but they can't see in."

"You aren't seriously considering…" she began.

"Got any other bright ideas Princess?" he asked, an eyebrow raised. Clarke stood and moved away from him, the furs muffling her footsteps. They should have been smarter in their approach. They shouldn't have come blindly. Who knows what havoc Jasper and Murphy were bringing upon themselves. Clarke was frustrated with herself, with her inability…

Suddenly, she felt arms come around her waist, strong and muscular. Calloused hands swept her hair away from her neck, trailing softly along her collarbone. Clarke unconsciously tilted her head to the side.

"Bellamy…" her voice was a whisper as she ran her hands down his arms. She didn't know what she wanted anymore. Whether it be Bellamy or Finn, The 100 or the Exodus survivors, all she knew was that Bellamy was stirring feelings that she didn't know she had. He brought his lips down to her bare shoulder where her sleeve had slipped and kissed her softly. Clarke closed her eyes and leaned against him. His hands traveled slowly to her hips and teased her waistline, leaving light touches as he pulled her closer.

Clarke was reminded of the day when she and Bellamy had first kissed, a kiss full of passion and lust. This, this was a tenderness she had never experienced, not from Finn, not from Bellamy. The circumstances that they had faced only minutes before dissipated. Right now, all she knew was Bellamy, Bellamy and his tender kisses.

She gasped as his hands traveled up beneath her shirt. His breath was hot in her ear as he kissed the soft skin right below her jawline. Clarke's own hands somehow became entangled in his hair, soft as silk. Her legs felt weak and unstable, whether it be from the heat of the fire or Bellamy's kiss she did not know. She was falling against him now and he supported her with all his weight.

"Clarke, I don't want you to do this if you don't want—" he started, murmuring against her cheek.

"No Bell, I want this." was her immediate reply. She heard and felt Bellamy's quick intake of breath. It made her heart soar. All at once his tenderness turned into fiery passion. He pulled Clarke's t-shirt over her head and she spun around. Her lips collided with his and she made quick work of his shirt. Her hands were everywhere, his neck, his arms, his stomach. Bellamy was beautiful, like the gods spoken of in children's tales, his body was like iron-steel, hard and firm. His lips tasted of spice and mint, cool on her hot mouth. Bellamy, too, was exploring her body, running his hands down the dips of her back and curves of her hips. It took all of Clarke's self-control not to shout or make any noise.

Bellamy's hands traveled down to the backs of her thighs and he lifted her up as if she weighed nothing. She was grasping his hair so tightly it must of hurt, but only lows growls of pleasure emanated from his throat. Clarke kicked off her boots and wrapped her legs around his waist as he turned her around so that her back was to the wooden post. It was as if they were devouring each other, consuming each other whole. The roaring fire danced shadows across their bodies illuminating facial features. It darkened Bellamy's hair and eyes. The wooden post dug into her skin, but Clarke hardly noticed. All she saw was Bellamy, all she needed was Bellamy.

Clarke whispered his name over and over. Bellamy's breath was becoming rushed and short, his chest moving quickly. Clarke placed a hand over his racing heart. It matched her own. Both their lips were swollen red from each other's kisses and Clarke continually teased Bellamy, biting and retreating. She felt him moan and his body rock against her own.

He carried her over and laid Clarke down gently, with much restraint, against the furs. She could not help but to stare at Bellamy, the firelight casting light on his chiseled cheekbones and freckles; and he stared at her, stroking her face and leaving butterfly kisses on her skin. She nodded to him and soon they were skin on skin, their clothes a pile on the ground. Clarke had never felt so alive, so wild. Bellamy was gentle, but strong, careful yet passionate. They read each other like a book and cherished one another like one deserved to be cherished. Clarke was not sure when they had stopped, but what she did know, she wanted nothing else but this.


End file.
